


Can't keep my eyes off of you

by craple



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Oblivious, Pining, but according to the british law sixteen is not underage, there might have been slight underage in this thing, this novel is so obviously painfully british so let's just roll with that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/craple/pseuds/craple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My cousin has been showing interest on the Stark girl,” he tells Gerris.</p><p>“That’s nice,” Gerris says.</p><p>“The <i>younger</i> Stark girl.” Quentyn presses.</p><p>“Oh,” Gerris replies. He sounds amused. “Now <i>that</i> is worrying.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't keep my eyes off of you

**Author's Note:**

> title of this fic is inspired by lifehouse's "you and me". it's an old song, i know, but i love this band to the bone so, just. yeah.
> 
> also, this is dedicated to [bills](archiveofourown.org/users/bills/pseuds/bills), whose aegon/arya fic is so bloody _wonderful_ , i'll probably start constructing an altar under thy name. everyone _needs_ to read it - [blue red and grey](http://archiveofourown.org/works/653791) \- _immediately_.
> 
> fyi: gerris and aegon are the same age. both are 18 during dance with dragons, so they'll probably be around 20s or something when they do show up in the show. which i sincerely hope they will. jon is sixteen, rhaenys seventeen, and arya is thirteen. enjoy this little self-indulgent of mine ;)

Despite not having a mother-figure in his life since he was eight, Griff is, fortunately enough, not so fucked up in the head that he would need a psychiatrist.

Long story short: Griff had a mother, who gave birth to Rhaenys and died soon after, leaving his grieving father, who met Detective Lyanna Stark a year later, married her, then watched her die during a case involving one of the British mob, the Baratheon Family.

Even though he never says, Griff admits that Lyanna is the closest he ever had to a mother. She is kind but brash, stunningly clever but also hot-headed at times, he’s not surprised to find it is ultimately the one that got her killed. He loved her, then.

Jon is his half-brother, born precisely nine months after the wedding, and is the only one that reminds Griff of her. He is not as cheerful or brash as Lyanna is. Jon is calmer, cleverer than Lyanna was. But he can be cruel and biting to those who mean harm to either his family, which now only consists of Griff, their dear beloved father, and little Rhae.

The four of them have been living together without anyone ever since. Rhaegar, their melancholy sweet beloved father, is convinced that he is destined not to ever have anyone in his arms, thus is the lack of another mother-figure for his three children.

Being the oldest of said children, Griff is used to getting into fights to defend Jon from the bullies. He protects Rhae on daily basis, assures her that she is the most beautiful little thing on the planet, until she grows into a confident young girl who already knows her way around Thai boxing by eighth grade.

Uncle Ben, quite possibly, has something to do with that, though Griff will deny it to his grave if father ever asks. Not that he doesn’t know. As a matter of fact, Griff is positive Rhaegar knows and lets them anyway. Because he doesn’t want to lose another woman in his life, perhaps. Griff is honestly fine with that.

Anyway; Jon, with his clever, clever brain, dry sarcasm, and great sense of responsibility, is able to be on the same level of education with Griff. Three years younger, already a high school senior with the highest GPA.

His classmates ask him if it’s weird. If it’s awkward that Griff is in the same class with his half-brother, who is three years younger, and is literally _better_ than Griff in every sense of word.

It’s really not.

He feels safe, with Jon around. Not more confident or any of the cliché, because Griff is confident enough as it is – Rhaegar even suggests a therapy for the overconfidence he possesses – but safe. Comfortable, happier. Even lucky, seeing that Jon doesn’t mind doing his homework or teaches him stuff he doesn’t understand at school.

Griff counts himself as one of the luckiest people in the world to have a brother like Jon. Their youngest brother, oh so innocent, sometimes so sour yet so loving, it breaks his heart to see a lot of people thinks of him as a boring stuck up, when he’s really not.

Plus, Jon has the Stark look. Long face and mops of messy black hair – dark as ink, quite possibly darker even – curled and stiff and is beyond repair compared to Griff’s silk-silver locks and Rhae’s fluffy dark brown hair. His eyes are the brightest Griff has ever seen; a combination of silver-blue, piercing through him with their intensity.

Sometimes, he’s so focused it makes even Uncle _Ned_ nervous.

To sum up, Jon is not unattractive. He is _way_ off from being unattractive. After all, their father is _Rhaegar_. One of the sexiest men alive three times in a row. Charming and delicate and most desired person everyone has ever seen.

Even if he marries an ugly beggar he picks up from the street, Griff honestly doubts their baby will turn out _ugly_. It’s practically _impossible_ to be ugly when your family consists of very much attractive people.

His family from his mother’s side, though, begs to disagree.

\--

The first time Griff met Quentyn, the boy was hacking his way into a blocked server to download a series of TV shows from the nineties.

Griff cannot say he wasn’t thoroughly _impressed_ already.

They became fast-friends after, with Griff doing things-which-may-or-may-not-be-illegal in the real world while Quent does it via the internet.

It’s practically akin to comparing notes, or having a bet to see which of them is better to misbehave. Griff is so accustomed having Quentyn by his side; he refuses to enroll into a college without Quent in it. And if Griff isn’t there, then neither is Jon.

Rhaegar ended up getting them into a local high school instead of the private one, while little gorgeous Rhae goes out of the country with the Martells, the exception being Quentyn.

Jon looks like he has more fun than he ever has in years, meeting with the rest of the Stark. Lady Catelyn is kind to both of them. The oldest son Robb is the same age as Jon. Sansa is a year younger, then there’s Arya and Bran and Rickon.

Griff doesn’t take much interest or even _care_ about the Starks. No matter how much he loves Jon, he is still half Targaryen and half Martell. He loves Lyanna as much as he loves his own mother, but he is not a Stark by blood, so it’s Jon’s business and his only. He has no place to interfere.

He knows Sansa has a crush on him. And there’s Joffrey too, of whom she fancies, and wouldn’t _that_ be a lovely pair. Griff doesn’t dislike people often, but Joffrey is one little shit he’d rather bury in the backyard than try to make peace with.

So Griff keeps his distance around the Stark. Doesn’t try to contact any of them if it’s not necessary, keeps the conversation to a minimum, mostly about Jon, and that’s it.

\--

Until one day, Arya Stark kicks his balls with the tip of her boot.

\--

Griff is still wincing in pain when the librarian arrives.

“What in the bloody seven _hells_ did you do that for?!”

“You made Sansa cry!”

“I _didn’t_! I made _Joffrey_ – that little shit of a _boyfriend_ – cry!”

“Same thing!”

“How is it the _same_?!”

“Well,” she begins, crossing her arms defensively over her chest. “You called him ‘little shit’. Thus, enraged him, and thus, made him want to punch you, which is a perfectly good reason to anyway, so wipe that scandalised look on your face.”

“But he didn’t. And _I_ didn’t punch _him_.”

“Yes, and that’s good and all, except he blamed it on Sansa, which made her cry and whine.”

“That was _a week ago_!”

Arya’s face turns sour. “ _Precisely_.”

Griff pictures it. Sansa, getting upset. Sansa, with her lovely, lovely face, eyes red and brimming with tears. Sansa, with her ear-piercing high-pitched voice and completely unreasonable reasons. He winces. “I see your point.”

Librarian Samantha is still gaping at them from the sideline. Griff’s balls hurt like a bitch.

“So. Truce?” Arya asks, one brow raised. _‘You deserve it’_ is written all over her face.

Griff nods solemnly. He can sympathise, unlike some people. “Truce.”

It’s the beginning of a good relationship.

\--

At lunch, Jon sits at the table on the corner beside Quentyn.

He politely doesn’t stare at the empty stool between Quentyn and Quentyn’s bag, and waits for Griff to emerge out of nowhere like he always does. Instead, he asks, “Is Mister Gerris eating with us today?”

Jon hopes his voice is as carefully neutral as it sounds in his head.

Quentyn’s slight frown tells him it doesn’t. _Lord_. “Does it matter? Gerris does what Gerris wants. If I were to bleed all over his stool from, say, a stab to my throat, he’d still sit here if he feels like it. And probably laughs all the while.”

Jon doubts that – very much doubt that. Quentyn doesn’t seem to realise.

So he just, nods. Eats his sandwich piece by small piece. Swallows the lettuce down easily, smearing the mustard on his lips with it. And carefully doesn’t say anything that’d rat Gerris’ obvious crush on Quent.

Gerris is – _much_ more than attractive, in Jon’s opinion. While it is not a common knowledge yet, he shares Griff’s taste on both genders. He’s seen a lot of attractive men in his life before, and no one is even _close_ to Griff’s level _yet_.

Gerris is the closest thing to be more attractive than anyone except Griff; their difference is quite startling, in reality. It’s a bit sad that the similarity between them is their sociopathic tendencies.

He still remembers Angela’s tear-stained cheeks, Mitchell’s outrage at the sight of her burnt-out dresses, the expression on Gerris’ sister’s face when Gerris himself smuggled scorpions – how in the Lord’s name he even _managed_ to get his hand on _one_ – into her wardrobe two days after he caught her kissing Quentyn’s bleeding lips.

Which, _should_ have made it clear how the older man feels toward Quentyn, but _of course_ ; _everyone_ except Quentyn himself understands the reason why Gerris did it. His sister still doesn’t want to talk to either of them, until now, and it’s so _painfully obvious_ that Gerris is – he’s _smug_ about it.

It’s a tough love bordering on psychopath. Jon can only hope Quentyn will realise sooner, and possibly reciprocate, least the entire world _burns_ under their hands.

‘Their’ being Gerris and Griff, since, well, he’s _Griff_. If he has nothing to do on the day where Quentyn will inexplicably break Gerris’ heart, he’d say _‘yes_ ’ to world domination anytime. It’s part of his charms.

Nearing the end of lunch, Jon hasn’t seen a glimpse of Griff yet. Jon is starting to get worried; he does not have a good feeling about this.

He is thinking of the many ways people can hurt his brother – from decapitation to being drugged with the rape-drug of sorts he’s seen in Criminal Minds – when he spots it.

Joffrey Baratheon, with the beautiful Sansa in his hand, marching down the cafeteria like it’s Anna Karenina instead of a school consisting of students who hate, nay, _loathe_ Joffrey with passion.

Then he sees Griff trailing behind them, acting innocent yet out of place, a bottle of – something – held tight in his grip.

Jon’s bad feeling intensifies.

Quentyn seems to have realised something is wrong when Jon stops answering the Robopocalypse trivia. “What’s wrong?” he asks, following Jon’s gaze, and promptly stops breathing. Jon hopes he will still be alive by the time he gets his wit back.

Only then he sees a mop of messy dark brown hair, long face, and lithe slender body moving through one large pipe in the ceiling to another, and he feels like getting a heart attack. Except his heart attack is not sudden and quick, but painful and rotting him from the inside – like cancer. Though quicker and more painful.

“The _fuck_ are they _doing_?” hisses Quentyn through tightly-clenched teeth. Jon knows the feeling. He is near from biting his own tongue off at the moment, he really does.

Quentyn Martell is a polite boy who doesn’t swear often. Jon almost misses it.

He is contemplating the trigger of Quent’s response, when Griff somersaults, lands on the nearest table, and pours the content of the vial on top of Joffrey’s golden head.

The next thing he knows – Arya is dropping a lighter, fully functional, the spark of wildfire clear while it falls – and Joffrey’s hair is burning, his face torn into a terrifying screech, as he heads down the corridor and into the boy’s bathroom.

Beside him, Quentyn falls out of his chair.

Mr. Gerris catches him before he reaches the ground.

Jon is not sure whether to laugh or cry or feel _touched_ at the event that has transpired fifty three seconds ago.

\--

“How bad was it?” Quentyn asks, as soon as Jon unlocks the key to his window and he comes in. Well, not so much as ‘come in’ more like ‘barge in’, but. Beggars can’t be choosers.

Jon locks the window. Quentyn sits at the edge of his bed, posture tense, looks ready to run away. He repeats “Well?” to which Jon replies, “Father took care of it.”

Quentyn’s eyes are so big they’re threatening to fall out of their sockets. “Really?”

Shifting on his feet, Jon swallows. “... The Starks may or may not have been –“

“Good _gods_ it was _that_ bad?”

Unsure of what to say, Jon can only nod. Quentyn bristles. “Fuck,” he hisses, raking a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

Jon whole-heartedly agrees.

\--

They go to Mr. Gerris’ flat that evening. Partly because Rhaegar is _furious_. Getting straight home the moment Principal Robert has explained the situation to him; it is _not_ a pretty sight.

Jaqen H’ghar, Arya’s private tutor, greets the door with a smile. It looks neither warm nor cold. Jon doesn’t understand how his cousin is so _besotted_ to this man. Gerris’ hurried footsteps echo from upstairs, shouting “Is it Quentyn? Quentyn’s here?” with a panicked sort of tone.

Quentyn’s brows furrow. Jon pretends not to see.

Gerris looks like he’s ready to wrap Quentyn in a bear hug when he comes down. Jaqen politely opens the door an inch closer, subtle enough not to be noticed, wide enough for Jon to slip in as quiet as a mouse.

The blonde starts chattering away once he gets his hand placed on the back of Quentyn’s neck. Fingers curling far too possessively around the tense muscles, massaging them with intent. Jon goes into the kitchen with Jaqen H’ghar and watches the flex of the man’s body as he prepares about for tea.

Arya has a good taste.

\--

Months later, they are preparing for college. Since Griff’s grades are too painfully perfect, _blinding_ even, the school stops calling Rhaegar of the chaos his eldest son creates almost daily.

It doesn’t stop, but it’s a progress. Griff and Arya have been hanging out together more often than not. It’s safe to say they are _knitted_ by the hips.

Wherever she goes, Griff is there. Talking, _always_ talking, about TV shows and movies and latest Batman issues. Sometimes Jon catches them talking about machetes and C4s. Sometimes mafia movies and Greek mythologies, other times it is psychological trivia one can get easily from Wikipedia.

Jon watches the way Griff would tell Arya of a story that makes her scoff, calls him on his bullshit. Her response varies, every time. There are times when he swears he sees a mischievous smirk after a particularly nasty story or a contemplative frown like she’s planning to do exactly what Griff has described from a fairy tale book or another.

Arya would commandeer the steps of each prank they make. She’d have this pleased, blissed-out expression on her face when they succeed without getting caught. She’d touch the crook of Griff’s elbow as congratulation and treats herself to tiramisu latte for self-congratulatory.

Most of the time the pranks are directed to Joffrey – eighty-two point nine five-five percent – so Jon’s not the only one who is surprised when Gendry Waters’ English papers are caught on fire in the middle of lunch.

Jon remembers Gendry as one of Arya’s friends. He’s not so smart, but he’s sharp, and one of the best basketball players in their school. He is flexible enough to get an offer in the track team, and Jon supposes he’s not so bad, the quiet-mysterious attitude aside. It is quite charming, actually.

So when Gendry shouts in pain, jumping so far back he’s tripping, Jon simply cannot understand _why_.

Principal Robert gives him a warning, this round. Arya is nowhere in sight, so it’s obvious enough she isn’t involved. Judging from the furious look she’s giving Griff the next day, and the day after though, it’s painfully clear that she doesn’t want him to do that.

It’s not just a prank anymore this time.

Griff sulks the rest of the way back home. Jon sighs, snatches his phone from his bag, and texts Quentyn that he’s coming over in an hour.

The reply comes not a minute after.

[I’m at Gerris’.]

Jon doesn’t realise he’s frowning until Griff shakes him by the shoulder. He’s laughing now though, at Jon’s face probably. Jon doesn’t take it to heart, tells him “Quentyn’s at Gerris’ place.”

His half-brother mimics the same frown on Jon’s face. Jon knows because of their awfully similar reflections at the shaded windows. “Again?” he asks, to which Jon grunts in agreement.

[Fifteen minutes. Unless you’re inappropriate for the eyes of the public.]

The next one comes thirty seconds too long, which makes Jon hyperventilate and tries to erase the image of Gerris doing _things_ to Quentyn – and yes, he is seconds away from retching now, if Griff’s pulling over at the side of the road and commanding him to get out is any indication.

[Inappropriate how? Is it the boots? I knew I shouldn’t have picked them out. Tell Griff he’s buying me a new pair.]

“Poor Gerris,” whistles Griff dramatically. Jon sympathises with him.

\--

“My cousin has been showing interest on the Stark girl,” Quentyn tells Gerris.

Griff and Jon stop dead on their track; the key to Gerris’ flat cold on the palm of Jon’s hand.

“That’s nice,” Gerris says.

There’s a sound of a paper being flipped, the scrabbling of a pen against hard surface. A high-pitched sound signals the boiling of a kettle. Jon can smell bacons and warm toast; fresh baked bread and apples, peach pies with low-fat cream, tomatoes and lettuces placed above melting cheese.

None of them move.

(Jon’s stomach is _roaring_ in starvation – the kitchen is his only redemption.)

“The _younger_ Stark girl.” Quentyn presses. He doesn’t sound worry or being all judge-ish; just pressing, and keeps pressing.

Like he is testing the water, like he wants to see what Gerris’ reaction will be.

“Oh,” Gerris replies. He sounds amused. “Now _that_ is worrying.”

Beside him, Griff blinks, opens his mouth, shuts it, and then drags Jon out of the flat.

He looks suspiciously close to be having a mental breakdown. Jon is slightly bit worried.

“I’ve been showing interest on Arya!” he tells Jon, panicked. Jon doesn’t say anything, waits.

“How come I haven’t realised!”

“Probably because you keep telling Gerris he has a slight pedo-personality for wanting to shag our eighteen year old cousin? Who is five years younger than him? Arya is five years younger than you.” Jon points out.

Griff gasps like he’s seen something unexpected – like James Bond courting a man. Or claiming to be a bisexual.

Oh, wait. That happened.

“I’m as worse as he is,” Griff whines, despairingly. Jon pats his head.

“At least she’s as clueless as Quent is?” he offers. Griff makes a face.

“Then I’m as worse as they are!”

Jon has nothing to say to that.

\--

Rhaegar is chopping carrots while reading ‘Cooking Book for Dummies’ when they arrive. Jon knows because he can hear it; the grudging sort of acceptance his father emits being transferred into the knife. The force of it is quite terrifying.

The liquor cabinet is open, and they are one whiskey bottle short. The entire house smells like spices and vegetables – Rhaegar has decided to eat healthy things only, after a rather traumatising work-related experience where his boss died of heart-attack, vomiting a month’s worth of Big Mac on Rhaegar’s Tom Ford – the light scent of burning candles and fresh roses.

Due to the level of starvation Jon is currently at (he’s blaming Griff, for they didn’t eat anything since _lunch_ after another call to the Principal’s office), he doesn’t hesitate walking into the kitchen. Realising too late that they’re walking into a trap.

Griff still looks dazed. Anyone would think he’s having an out-of-body experience. He clearly doesn’t.

“Good evening. Have a sit. Appetizers should be done in a minute. Be a dear and remove your bags from the floor, please, there’s a good boy.”

A lock of father’s silver hair gets in the way of his sight, so Jon stands on the tip of his toes to remove it. Rhaegar kisses the line down his wrist fondly.

The three of them sit, and keep quiet, as they always do during family dinner.

Jon sets his turkey aside for further inspection after he’s done with the green beans covered in peanut-sauces, forks the carrot, broccoli, and the large round-shaped potato in that order. Rhaegar peels through the remaining of skin on his boiled potatoes with his knife. Griff barely touches his food.

Of course, father notices.

Without warning whatsoever, Rhaegar asks, “Did you confront your brother of his little crush on the little Stark girl, Jon?”

Griff splutters and nearly chokes around a spoonful of macaronis. Jon shoves the melon juice over to his brother’s side.

“H-how –“

“You always act like this after you realised something that relates to your feelings, Aegon, don’t deny it. I’m your father, I’d know if you lie.” Father bites half of the potato elegantly, wiping the remaining of sauce stuck to his lower lip with a napkin. He smiles disarmingly. “And your brother has always been more... aware, than you are, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t –“

“Remember Aunt Dany?” Jon does, as do Griff. “That was one of _the_ most awkward phases in the history of our family. Jon was the one who got you out before Uncle Viserys tore you a new one, see? I would like not to see a repeat of that. Now, clearly you haven’t told her yet, so what happened?”

When neither brother speaks, Rhaegar deflates, a little sadly. “Is it that bad, then?” father sighs. “I suppose I can teach you how to woo and apologise properly. Even though the girl you fancy is thirteen, and doesn’t appreciate the art of courting so much.”

At that, Griff groans aloud, smashes his face against his food.

Rhaegar pats his head fondly.

Jon _does not_ choke back his laugh. That would be cruel.

\--

Six weeks later, Jon sees Arya tackling Griff on to the ground like a pro wrestler.

Quentyn blinks in surprise.

“What did he do?” he asks Jon, after lunch. “She looked like she was about to _murder_ him and feed his flesh to the dogs three days ago.”

Jon tilts his head, and smiles. “Remember Griff’s Ducati Monster?”

“Yes?” Quentyn coaxes patiently. Jon continues, “And Arya’s love of wolves?”

His cousin is completely lost now. Jon can’t hold back his grin.

“Last week he sold his bike, bought a wolf – completely legal, signed under papers of the court, all that shit – leather collar, and a ticket concert to watch Lifehouse in the City of Angels.”

Quentyn stares at him incredulously. “What, are you _serious_?”

Jon laughs. “Well, it’s actually two tickets, plus a couple of free ice cream coupons, but the point stands.”

\--

Gerris doesn’t let Griff live _this_ – or, the one where Griff has a crush on someone five years younger than him, _this_ – down.

Neither is Quentyn, in that case. Jon sorts of wants to tease him about it as well.

But, for the sake of their brotherhood, Jon doesn’t.

Doesn’t tease him about it, that’s it, and doesn’t tell him about the money exchange between his father, little Rhae, Quentyn, Jaqen, Gerris, and particularly himself on whether or not they’ll hook up, eventually.

And they do, in the end. Three years later, after Arya’s sixteenth birthday, and she is as legal as the lawyer living next door.

Still, Jon pretends he doesn't see anything when Robb Stark broke into their house and dumped a boxful of condoms in the middle of Griff’s room. He is still waiting to collect his money from everyone’s pockets the day Gerris kidnaps Quentyn out of the country on a ‘date’, after all, and he’d rather being in his father’s good side when he eventually does.

All in all, it’s a pretty good ending.


End file.
